and quit their
nauseous Fools--No, no, my Brother, when Parents grow arbitrary, 'tis
time we look into our Rights and Privileges; therefore, my dear
_George_, if e'er thou hope for Happiness in Love, assist my
Disobedience.

_Geo._ In any worthy Choice be sure of me; but canst thou wish Happiness
in Love, and not inform me something of _Mirtilla_?

_Oliv._ I'll tell you better News--our hopeful elder Brother, Sir
_Merlin_, is like to be disinherited; for he is, Heaven be thanked--

_Geo._ Marry'd to some Town-Jilt, the common fate of Coxcombs.

_Oliv._ Not so, my dear _George_, but sets up for a celebrated
Rake-hell, as well as Gamester; he cou'd not have found out a more
dextrous way to have made thee Heir to four Thousand Pounds a Year.

_Geo._ What's that without _Mirtilla_?

_Oliv._ Prithee no more of her--Love spoils a fine Gentleman: Gaming,
Whoring and Fighting may qualify a Man for Conversation; but Love
perverts all one's Thoughts, and makes us fit Company for none but one's
self; for even a Mistress can scarce dispense with a fighting, whining
Lover's Company long, though all he says flatters her Pride.

_Geo._ Why dost thou trifle with me, when thou knowest the Violence of
my Love?

_Oliv._ I wish I could any way divert your Thoughts from her, I would
not have your Joy depend on such a fickle Creature.

_Geo._ _Mirtilla_ false! What, my _Mirtilla_ false!

_Oliv._ Even your _Mirtilla's_ false, and married to another.

_Geo._ Married! _Mirtilla_ married! 'Tis impossible.

_Oliv._ Nay, married to that bawling, drinking Fool, Sir _Morgan
Blunder_.

_Geo._ Married, and married to Sir _Morgan Blunder_! a Sot, an ill-bred
senseless Fool; almost too great a Fool to make a Country Justice?

_Oliv._ No doubt, she had her Aims in't, he's a very convenient Husband,
I'll assure you, and that suits her Temper: he has Estate and Folly
enough, and she has Youth and Wantonness enough to match 'em.

_Geo._ Her Choice gives me some Comfort, and some Hopes; for I'll pursue
her, but for Revenge, not Love.

_Oliv._ Forget her rather, for she's not worth Revenge, and that way
'twill be none; prostitute in Soul as Body, she doats even on me in
Breeches.

_Geo._ On thee, her Page? doat on thee, a Youth! she knew thee not as
Woman.

_Oliv._ No, that Secret I have kept to do you Service.--At first she
said she lov'd me for your sake, because you recommended me; and when I
sung, or plaid upon my Flute, wou'd kiss